


all the yesterdays i never forgot

by sunset_oasis



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/F, Optimistic Ending, mentions of fire, the duchess and Jacquelyn are the same person in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 01:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunset_oasis/pseuds/sunset_oasis
Summary: There were many things that Esmé remembered about R.





	all the yesterdays i never forgot

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: I don't own ASOUE
> 
> a/n: so the idea of this pairing hit me suddenly today, and i feel like i have to write something about it. Jacquelyn as R is one of my personal headcanons after watching the show, so i decided to incorporate that it into the story.

Here’s what Esme remembered: acting class on a Saturday afternoon, a light scoff behind her following Olaf’s ridiculous speech, the pair of pretty lips the scoff came from, and the moment some dramatic entrance music started playing as Esme turned around to study the face with the soft, pretty lips – figuratively started playing, anyway.

Wait, no – _literally_ started playing. Because apparently Olaf, for whatever reason, decided to accompany his speech with music to showcase his point, whatever it was.  As Esme met the eyes of the girl with blonde curls, all about what Olaf said seemed unimportant.

She was wearing a white summer dress, not super in but with a certain kind of unforgettable elegance.  On her finger was a ring Esme had never seen before, but she’d heard of it and knew which family it belonged to.

“R,” Esme acknowledged, and the Duchess of Winnipeg’s lips curved into an approving smile.

“E,” R replied easily with a nod. Esme was pleased to know that she had enough of a reputation for people to easily recognize her. “The new student Olaf mentioned, I take it.”

The comment washed away her previous pleasure surprisingly fast, and for the first time, she wished that wouldn’t be what she’d be recognized, be remembered as. “Perhaps by the end of tonight,” she ventured slyly, “you might know me as something other than that.”

 

* * *

 

This was what Esme remembered: a high-profile shop for women’s suits in the city, eager kisses in the fitting room, R looking sharp in a suit.

“We look fabulous.  Like an important financial advisor and her competent secretary.”

“Neither of us are a financial advisor or a secretary.”

“We might be, one day,” a challenging eyebrow raised, a delightful smirk playing across the lips.

“In that case,” a sparkle in the eye, a smooth drawl across two rows of sharp teeth, “perhaps we should roleplay for practice.”

 

* * *

 

Esme remembered this: cosmetics spread across a desk, the crimson orange of the setting sun shining through the window, R’s frown.

“If you really don’t want to go, I’d love to go own this blind date for you. I’ll order the _in_ nest, most expensive dishes and let the man pay,” Esme offered. “And then dump him afterwards.  That would be fun.”

“I’d take you up on the offer, but I think my mother gave the man my picture.”

“Well, then isn’t it just lucky that I’m an excellent actress with superb disguise skills?  Let’s get me dressed.” Esme paused. “Of course, we’d have to do the undressing part first.”

“Ah,” R’s frown faded away as a grin replaced it, “one of my favorite parts.”

 

* * *

 

And then there’s this: getting used to wearing the blonde wig to the dates R’s parents set her up with, and dumping the date after an extravagant dinner.  It worked well, for quite a long time.  And then Jerome happened.

Also: it turned out wigs were just like masks – you wear them for too long, you start to think they’re part of you.

 

* * *

 

This was what Esme remembered: 

“You’ve met rich men before, and you never wanted to _marry_ them!”

“Maybe I’ve changed, have you thought about that? Or maybe he’s even richer than all those other men combined.”

“Or maybe,” R said shrewdly, her eyes furious, almost like fire, Esme thought absentmindedly.  Esme liked fire.  “Maybe this is about Beatrice and the sugar bowl.”

Esme laughed, sharp and dark. “You’ve always been clever. That’s what I like about you.”

The thing about accusations was, they don’t always lead to denial, but they certainly do tend to lead to angry sex.

 

* * *

 

And Esme remembered this: they met again, because of _course_.  Even after the breakup, they did tend to run in the same circle.  A circle with an eye insignia hiding three letters.  This time, they were on different sides now. 

Or perhaps they’d been on different sides a long time ago, but just never talked about it.

Ironically, now they were actually a financial advisor and a secretary.

“Well, hello, the city’s sixth most important financial advisor,” R greeted her, her voice dripping with sarcasm.  Esme stole a glance at the name plate on her desk.  It read _Jacquelyn_.

“Hi, secretary for the city’s cough-the-most banker,” Esme shot back.

R – _Jacquelyn_ ’s face twisted into a familiar grimace, showing her distaste for her boss.  For a moment, it seemed like nothing ever changed between them, that they were still who they’d been all those years ago.

The moment was gone as quickly as it came.

“How many places have you set on fire recently?” R asked coldly. 

Esme took a moment to study her new hairstyle before refocusing back on their conversation. “Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you all about it,” she leant onto the secretary’s desk, half-threateningly, half-invitingly.

R’s lips thinned.  Esme noticed they still looked as pretty as it’d been when they’d first met.

Perhaps some things never really changed.

“Fine,” R said coolly. “But just so you know, I’m only doing this for information, and not for anything else.”

“Of course,” Esme simpered, falsely sweet. She sat onto the desk, crossing her legs with the exact precision designed to catch attention. “Isn’t it what our organization is all about?”

R’s expression didn’t change. “Just one drink,” she reminded Esme simply.

 

* * *

 

Here’s what Esme remembered: It wasn’t just one drink.  _Of course_ it wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

She remembered this: lettuce bikini, breaking up with Olaf, Carmelita holding a harpoon gun.  She remembered this: a cocktail party that never took place, a court with three orphans on trial, all those rumors about the sugar bowl flying around.  She remembered this: the chaos that followed as blindfolded people trampled around everywhere.  People crashing into each other everywhere.  Someone shouting about the hotel being on fire.  Someone shouting about how the fire was a lie.

And while life in V.F.D was oftentimes filled with an abundance of lies, it was also filled with an abundance of fire.

She remembered this: trying to move towards the exit when there were too many people going in the same direction, threatening people with her stiletto heels if they didn’t move out of her way, the fire catching up with all of them –

She remembered this: a strong pair of arms pulling her out of the crowds and hooked something onto her, a drop from the fifth floor to the ground, and absolute darkness after that.

 

* * *

 

Esme opened her eyes to an overly pale-white room that could only be a hospital.

“You’re awake,” said a very, very familiar voice.  She turned slightly, and saw the blonde curls and the soft lips she always remembered.

And she found herself slowly starting to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com)


End file.
